Final Warning. Sandra Robbins

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СКАЧАТЬ street and pulled to a stop in front of C.J.’s house. He sat there thinking about all the times she’d come running out to meet him. Her eyes would light up, and his heart would beat a little faster at how right it felt for them to be together. All that changed when she gave the ring back.

      A tap at the window startled him, and he jumped in surprise. He turned to see Mary Warren, C.J.’s next-door neighbor, standing beside him. He smiled and rolled the window down. “Good morning, Mary. I didn’t see you.”

      The elderly lady smiled. “I’ve been walking Otto and saw your car. I wanted to say hello.”

      At the mention of her schnauzer, the dog jumped up on the side of the car. Mary pulled on the leash and took a step back. “Otto, get down.”

      Otto’s paws slid downward, and Mitch cringed at the sound of Otto’s nails scraping on metal. He dreaded seeing the scratch on his new paint job. Mary pulled Otto back, but he tugged hard on the leash to reach the car. C.J. and Mitch had often laughed that Otto had Mary trained well.

      Mitch opened the door and stepped out in an effort to distract Otto from jumping up again. He knelt down and patted the dog. “How are you today, boy?”

      Mary beamed at Mitch as he rose. “Otto has always liked you.”

      Mitch smiled. “How have you been?”

      Mary’s faded blue eyes stared at Mitch. The jogging suit she wore swallowed her small body. She’d lost weight in the last few weeks. Every time he saw Mary, he wondered how much longer she could live alone. Her mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been a year ago, but that didn’t distract from what she saw as her mission in life.

      Ever since Mary’s husband had died, she’d been obsessed with what she saw as the rising crime rate in Oxford. She’d become so concerned that she had appointed herself as a neighborhood watchdog to keep an eye out for danger. Every time he saw Mary, she had another incident to report to him.

      Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the street. “All right, I guess. But I wanted to tell you about the woman I saw this morning sitting across the street in a strange car.”

      “Maybe she was visiting someone.” Mitch wondered how many times Mary had approached him with her worries.

      Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so. She was sitting there when I left for my walk with Otto, and she hadn’t left forty-five minutes later when we came back. I watched her after I went in the house. She drove off about fifteen minutes later when C.J. did. In fact, she followed C.J.”

      An uneasy feeling welled up in Mitch. “What did the car look like, Mary?”

      She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “I don’t know anything about cars. All I know is that it was big and black. But I wrote down the license plate number.” She tore the paper from the pad and held it out to him. “You know I never go anywhere without my notebook.”

      Mitch smiled, took the paper and put his arm around Mary’s shoulders. “I’m sure it was very innocent. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll check on it. Now you go on home, and don’t worry.”

      She patted his arm and stared at him for a moment. “You’re a good boy, Mitch.”

      He climbed back in his car as Mary shuffled toward her house with Otto in tow. Mitch stared at the number in Mary’s shaky handwriting before he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed-dialed the police department’s number.

      With the first ring, the dispatcher answered. “Oxford Police Department.”

      “Jennie, this is Mitch Harmon. I need you to run a license plate for me.”

      “Sure, Mitch.”

      He read the numbers and waited for her computer search. Within seconds she was back on the phone.

      “Got it, Mitch.”

      “Who’s the car registered to?”

      “None other than Jimmy Carpenter.”

      The words hit Mitch like a punch in the stomach. “Thanks, Jennie.”

      He closed the phone and sat lost in thought. Why was a car belonging to the drug lord of Oxford sitting across the street from C.J.’s house and following her? Maybe that radio show was becoming even more dangerous than he thought.

      The hands on the wall clock pointed to 3:45 p.m. C.J. sat in the broadcast area, her palms damp with sweat. She stared through the window into the adjacent room where Harley busied himself checking the control board before airtime. Just a few more minutes and she’d be transmitting live.

      Four to 7:00 p.m.—the most coveted segment of afternoon drive time. She still had to pinch herself to believe that the station had given it to her. But it seemed to be paying off. Her ratings were climbing every week. She just hoped Harley’s disagreement with Michael Grayson didn’t do anything to jeopardize the program.

      She pulled the microphone closer to her mouth and reached up to check the earphones again. In the next room Harley mouthed the countdown, his fingers cueing her to the seconds left before broadcast. With a grin he pointed to her.

      C.J. took a deep breath and leaned closer to the console. “Good afternoon, and welcome to C.J.’s Journal. You’re listening to WLMT-FM in Oxford, on the air with C.J. Tanner. It’s good to be back among friends. No matter where you are, at home or driving from work, loosen that tie, settle back and get ready to spend the next three hours chatting with me about life in Oxford. Get your questions and comments ready and call me at 555-WLMT—that’s the number. But while those calls are coming in, we’re going to take a few minutes to recognize our sponsor. I’ll be back right after this message.”

      She clicked off and glanced to her left at the call screener. The calls, first routed to Harley, were approved before they were put through to the broadcast booth. The caller ID on the monitor displayed the incoming phone numbers, and she watched as he lined them up for her. She always felt a moment of apprehension before the first question. Once into the broadcast, she relaxed, letting the callers voice their concerns and responding to them in a lively give-and-take.

      All too soon the commercial ended. Harley was counting down again. She scanned the caller screen and frowned: the display read private number. They had agreed when the show went on the air that all callers had to be identified. Why was Harley putting this one through?

      She looked at Harley and shook her head, but he motioned for her to take the call.

      Frowning, she spoke into the microphone. “This is C.J. What’s on your mind tonight?”

      A soft chuckle sounded on the other end of the line, and a voice purred into her ear. “My name is Fala. I thought we might tell your listeners about our game.”

      Cold fear washed over her, and she fumbled to bring the mic closer. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand.”

      “Come on, C.J. You know what I mean. I sent you a riddle this morning. Have you solved it yet?”

      The voice held a wheedling tone and maybe a Southern drawl. But one thing she was certain of—she was talking to Fala.

      From the next room Harley grinned at her. C.J. СКАЧАТЬ